They stepped into the chamber, and Apollo immediately felt the shift in atmosphere. The air was thick with sword power—refined, restrained, and ancient. It wasn't the wild edge of a battlefield but the tempered calm of one who had stood upon countless of them.
Inside, the room was modest yet filled with power. A sword, sheathed but exuding quiet dominance, rested beside a stack of ancient scrolls.
Behind a simple wooden desk sat a man whose mere presence seemed to anchor the entire outpost. His hair was black, and from every angle he appeared ordinary without any standout feature.
But having ordinary doesn't mean weak, but it was exactly the opposite. His mind was calm, yet hidden within was a pure rule of sword that he had never seen. If it was a matter of the purity of his sword, even Apollo's sword was a bit behind.
His eyes—deep and unwavering—lifted toward Apollo and Tamora.
